We Weren't Quite What We Seemed
by lovebirds413
Summary: John has always wondered what happened to make the Holmes brothers so mad at each other. Once he finds out he gets sucked into a whirlwind of political intrigue and family heartbreak. Where exactly does he fit into the Holmes family and just who is this girl that seems so involved in everything?


**A/N: So here is my next story. I know for a fact that this will take a long time in updating but the prologue is cool by itself for awhile. **

**While the prologue is, the rest of the story is not military focused. Although Murray might make another appearance later on. It's rated T for mild swearing and possible violent situations. John is generally a bad ass so...**

**My little sister is awesome a drew the cover photo for me. Check out my profile for her tumblr information.**

**I do not own these characters, except for a few. But John Watson who is the star is only on loan. **

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**We Weren't Quite What We Seemed**

**By Christine**

_"To slay the dragon, to save the maiden, to hear the angels sing.  
__But we weren't quite what we seemed, no we weren't quite what we seemed.  
In days of old."  
_~In the Days of Old, Emit Rhodes

Prologue 

**Operation Moshtarak**  
**Marjah, Helmand Province, Afghanistan, **  
**July, 2010 **

"Keep your head down solider." Captain John H. Watson, RAMC, currently of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, pressed his hands to the open wound on the man in front of him. "Murray get your arse over here!" he bellowed to be heard over the bullets that filled the air around them. The sound of artillery seemed to come from every direction and though the convoy was all around him it seemed the only bodies that could be seen were the doctor and the broken man he was hunched over.

"Shit, Murray, we're gonna loose him!" The Captain put as much pressure as he could on the wounded leg but he was afraid that if he didn't get serious medical attention soon the man might lose the limb. Soon enough the corpsman came stumbling through the rocky sandy road with his medic bag.

"We're pulling out sir." But Captain Watson ignored his orderly and began to patch up the leg as best he could. Murray, however, continued to plead with his commanding officer about the need to leave. "Sir, we can't hold this ground. We have to leave. The whole unit's returning to base."

Watson fixed the corporal with a glare. The glare had become famous since Watson had first been attached to this brigade. It was a stare that brooked no disagreement, a stern, passionate glare and no one dared to argue with any words that followed it. "Murray this soldier needs medical attention. I am here to give him that. I took an oath. And you," pointing a bloody finger into the chest of the medic for emphasis, "are here to assist me. Gauze."

Nodding solemnly, the corporal silently handed him the needed supplies. The doctor continued to patch up the wounded man as the rest of the company began to retreat. This was supposed to have been a routine drive through. U.S Marines, British and Afghan troops had been present in the Nad Ali district of Helmand – just five miles from the capital – since February in an offensive maneuver against the Taliban. This was difficult to do as many of the local farming population supported the insurgents and the protection they provided for their opium trade. They actually had a kind of alliance which made it very problematic to actually attack. So they drove through towns with a show of force. Effectively it was a kind of stalemate. Not today however. Today Captain John Watson joined the unit drive through, just so he could get a look at some of the towns. Today the insurgents and locals attacked the convoy.

"Doc," came a weak breathy voice from the patient. "No need to talk solider. We have no time for it and you don't have the strength." The patient however insisted and flailed his arms until the doctor grabbed his hands and listened. "Doc," he said taking labored breaths. Watson knew that this had to be important for the man to make such an effort. "House." A sharp breath in. "Girl. Hurt. Trapped." The man was now gasping for air. "Protect," another breath, "her. Protect…"

The Captain's eyes became sharp and narrowed. "What girl? Where?"

The wounded man lifted one of his hands, with much effort, and pointed off to the East then passed out from the pain. Squinting off to the distance at a farmhouse, Watson didn't hear the approach of the U.S. troop leader.

"Captain."

"Lieutenant," Watson answered with a nod.

"We need to move out now that the artillery has stopped. This area is a hotbed for insurgents. It is no longer safe."

"It wasn't safe before, Lieutenant," said Watson as he returned to his doctoring. The Lieutenant decided to ignore the harsh tone of the Captain, recognizing the tension in his superior's shoulders. Apart from his glare Watson was also known for his strong moral opinions and he had long been against the drug trade that flowed through Helmand. He made no effort to hide this opinion, especially from those soldiers who had occasionally indulged in supporting the horrible business with recreational use of the product.

"We will be heading out in five minutes." He paused a moment. "With or without you." Watson only nodded at that and the Lieutenant left to ready the rest of the men and prepare the convoy.

"Murray!" he barked to his orderly who was absent yet again. "Get over here! Give me your hand." He placed the corporal's hand in pace. "Bandage this." Standing up he yelled for another man to bring a stretcher. "Make sure that he gets to the truck," he said to Murray.

The medic looked up to see his Captain checking the cartridge of his SIG. "What are you doing?" After a he was given a Watson glare he added, "Sir."

"As a doctor I took an oath to heal people, in any and all situations. As a soldier I took an oath to protect. There is a girl that needs help. This man," he said gesturing to the patient still on the ground unconscious, "was in severe pain but he took the time to tell me that she was in danger. I am going to see what I can do about his last request."

"Sir?" Murray still looked confused.

Watson sighed. "I'm going to that farmhouse to see what's going on. If I'm not back before the convoy leaves I'll find my own way back."

"Sir –" Murray began but was cut off by Watson's glare.

"This is part of my duty, Corporal, and you will do as I say. Get this man on the truck."

"Yes sir."

"Oh, and no need to mention my detour to the Lieutenant. He already knows not to wait for me." With that Watson holstered his gun and took off at a fast pace to the distant farmhouse. The eerie quite that had come over the area once he reached it was strange. No more bullets whizzing by, even the noise of the convoy seemed distant. He had no idea what to expect, as his patient's description was vague at best, but what he saw in that farmhouse was really beyond everything.

It was dark and completely void of furniture with the exception of one chair in the middle of the room. Tied quite securely to the chair was a girl in Muslim dress. She looked impossibly young with her golden curls spilling out of her undone burka. There were bruises along her left cheek and her lip was split. Her head hung defeatedly with her eyes half closed. She didn't even register his movements in the room until he cursed. "Shit."

Her head jerked up at the whisper and she looked up at Watson in grateful recognition of the language. Quickly he pulled out a knife and moved toward her to undo her bonds. Kneeling in front of her he began slowly cutting through the many layers of rope which secured her.

"Please, you need to leave." Her voice was hoarse from lack of use and water. "Take it easy. I'll bring you with me when I go." Watson continued his methodical process of removing the ropes, trying not to jar her badly bruised wrists. Her accent was British, though he couldn't place exactly where, it had a slight posh tone to it. Watson knew she had absolutely no business being here, beaten and tied to a chair, in Afghanistan.

Taking a few dry swallows as the saliva in her mouth was gone she tried again. "They are coming back. They were just trying to scare away all the soldiers."

"Ah. So you're the reason we were shot at." Watson looked up and smiled at her hoping his warm voice would put her at ease. "It's alright I'll get you out of here. I'm a doctor."

"You have to go," she insisted. Watson continued to reassure her of her freedom and he scanned the room, looking for a better exit as he cut through the last of the ropes around her ankles. Once, at last, she was free they both started as loud noises could be heard from where Watson assumed was a back door. Pulling out his SIG he stood between the coming noise and the girl.

"You are hurt but free. If something happens, run." The girl didn't respond, not even a nod. Watson did hear her sharp intake of breath as voices could now be discerned amongst the noise. It was Dari. He only caught every third word or so but the girl obviously understood as she stiffened in fear. Most likely these were her captors and they were coming back to finish the job they had started. This was not good.

His mind ran through the various scenarios, of escape or possible injury and death. He began to panic slightly. Dammit he was a doctor. And a soldier. As much as he didn't like to inflicted pain it looked like this was going to be a bad day. As the voices came closer he couldn't rightly discern how many people he was about to face.

"How many?" he whispered. When she didn't respond he was afraid she did hear him. "How many?" he repeated.

"F-F-Five," came the stuttered response. Five. He could deal with five. Hopefully. With no backup outside of his gun he took a deep breath as much more than five tall armed men loudly tumbled into the room.

Angry cries broke out at the sight of the soldier with a gun trained on them. Guns raised on all sides and a silent stare off began. Captain Watson stared at them and what looked like poor Afghani farmers stared back at him. They looked like poor Afghani farmers except all of them had AK-47s. Pointed directly at him. It made him think that they weren't really poor Afghani farmers. Drug dealers? Taliban? He didn't know and with his life, and the girl's, on the line he didn't rightly care. They were bad and that was all that was important.

One of the younger looking ones eyed Watson up and down and then spat at his feet effectively ending the silence. "American pig," he growled.

"Oi! I'm British."

"Imperialist scum." The kid spat again and the rest of the men got a little restless and began whispering to each other.

Never lowering his SIG Watson tried to instill some reason into the situation. He gave them a glare. "Listen, you can insult me for donkey's years but get this straight, if you hurt this woman I will blow your brains out."

This announcement just instigated an explosion of anger from the Afghanis and even more insults were thrown however mostly in Dari now so Watson was relieved of the pleasure of actually having to understand them. He threw in a few of his own for good measure.

"_Stop!_" The voice which had only spoken so softly earlier was now loudly, though a little brokenly, cutting through the room in clear Dari. All conversation ceased. "_This man has nothing to do with us. Leave him alone and let him go. I will give you what you want_." Watson blinked as the girl spoke and came to step in front of him. He had no idea what she was saying but her actions were telling him that she was trying to save him. That was not how he worked and he itched to push her behind him again. He refused to lower his gun.

"_We have been trying to get you to talk for days, even shot your body guard and left him for dead. Now you are willing to give us everything. Who is this man?_" The man in the center of the Afghani group spoke with authority and he stepped forward towards the girl. "_Who is he to you_?"

"_Truly he is no one. He came from the convoy in the village. He said he is a doctor_." She looked up the man with pleading eyes. "_Please let him go_." The man slapped her for her apparent impudence. He then turned to Watson and spoke in accented English. "Who are you?"

Watson who was reigning in his rage from that unnecessary slap readjusted his grip and leveled his gun right between his addressor's eyes. "Captain John H. Watson of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers. I'm a doctor and if you attempt to do anything like that again I will kill you. Very painfully."

The man had the audacity to laugh at the threat and the rage of the Captain was building. Before any further action could take place however, voices were heard outside the house. The terrorists, or drug dealer, or whoever they were began to panic. They were voices speaking English. Shouts and directions were overheard. The house was slowly being surrounded.

The leader let out a curse in his native tongue. "_You liar, you heathen whore! You have alerted the Americans_!" He tried to roughly pull the girl behind him so they could escape with their hostage intact. In the confusion of possible capture he momentarily forgot about Watson, still standing there with his service pistol trained on him. He really shouldn't have underestimated the soldier because without hesitation, the moment the terrorist made a grab for the girl, Watson fired. Close range, dead shot, between the eyes. The results weren't pretty. Watson heard the girl scream and then it was utter chaos. Guns were fired, voices were raised, soldiers spilled into the house from all sides.

Watson stood his ground and fired. Through the disorder, from seemingly out of nowhere, a stray Jezail bullet tore through all the ligaments in his shoulder. He screamed at the pain. And screamed again. In the dizzying commotion that followed he got off a few more shots, though they went wide of their targets. There were too many men and voices surrounding him. He scanned the room for the girl but didn't see her. He stumbled back toward the chair in the center of the room only to find it empty and overturned; the girl was nowhere. Just nowhere. The blood loss made his vision blurry and he was going into shock. He felt the press of people on him and heard a rush of voices among them the eager voice of his corpsmen.

"Captain? Captain? It's me, Corporal Murray. Captain? Captain!? John!?"

There was only one thought that ran through the Captain's mind before he fell to the ground in an unconscious heap. "Dear God, let me live!"

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**A/N: This is my first attempt at action sequences. While this story is filed under adventure and family there will bee touches of romance as well. **


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